Framed
by Allora Silverfield
Summary: Some of us have never known what it's like to be rich. Well, Ryan Hynder has never known the opposite. Living the life of a young CEO, his world is turned upside down when a virus is discovered in new product that his company has just launched. Thrown into a world he has never truly experienced, Ryan must become a pokemon trainer just to make enough to survive.
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: MATURE CONTENT

* * *

Ryan slammed her against his closet door, holding her paws above her head with one hand. He dug his fingers into her waist with the other. They kissed passionately, his tongue mingling with her own. Her long whiskers brushed against his cheek, only fueling his lust. He ran his hand down her side, fingers caressing her soft, tan fur, until he found her ass. He gave it a rough squeeze, pressing himself into her even more. She mewled and he nearly lost it.

The delcatty woman coyly lifted her leg, wrapping it around his back, stiletto heel digging into his left side. Her tail wrapped around him from the right, pinning him to her. The little ball of purple fur at its tip brushed his back, and he groaned in response.

"Yes… give it to me." In response, she bit his lip, sharp fangs pinching the skin. Ryan reached down and picked her up from beneath her thighs, carrying her over to his bed. He threw her down roughly, finally removing his boxers. His manhood throbbed, perched at the ready, pointing toward its target and drooling.

She was already bare, lying provocatively on the sheets, perky breasts now pointed at the ceiling. Ryan leaned forward, giving one of them a squeeze. "You are so fucking sexy," he grunted, kissing her muzzle again.

"Ca…" she moaned in between breaths. His tongue mixed with hers once more, the roughness tickling his mouth.

Ryan sat up, holding his member and eyeing her already-wet lips hungrily. But, he needed something else first. He gestured to his length expectantly, and the delcatty complied. She took him in her paws, soft fur tickling slightly. Ryan shivered, nearly salivating with anticipation.

She ran her soft paws up and down his cock for a few more moments, before wrapping her mouth around the tip. Ryan sighed, pleasure racking his body. She began to move her head up and down, careful to keep her sharp teeth out of the way.

Ryan reached down to play with her breast as she worked. He grabbed her ear with his other hand, pulling her head down roughly, pumping her mouth along his member. The delcatty choked a bit, but was unable to voice her discomfort through his roughness. Finally, Ryan stopped, yanking her head off of him. She gave him a look, angled eyes slightly narrowed, displeased with how he had just treated her, but he didn't notice.

He pushed her down on the bed, pushing her legs open and bending over her. Slowly, he pushed himself into her, relishing the feeling of her fur before entering her tight pussy. He pushed deeper, eyes closing in ecstasy. The delcatty reciprocated, purring uncontrollably as he pumped in and out of her.

"Oh, yes," he moaned, fucking her faster. He grabbed her purple hair and yanked it, earning a cry more of pain than pleasure from the cat. But he was too consumed by then to care. He grabbed her hips, angling them and pushing his full length into her, so deep he could feel the resistance from her uterus.

"Ca-a-a!" she cried, now clearly in pain. Ryan continued to push, finally cumming into her with a final, hard thrust. Tears fell from her eyes as he did, but she lay still, trembling. Ryan waited a few more moments before finally pulling out.

"Ah…" he sighed, sitting back for a minute. He ran his fingers through his black hair. "Nice," he said, winking at her.

She looked up at him, a mixture of pain and pleasure having taken control of her body. Tears were still in her eyes from the roughness of the sex.

Ryan, ignorant of that, stood and slipped on his boxers. "Though, you could use a little, _training,_" he said, smirking at his own joke. For a moment, he looked out the window, the city lights sparkling in the distance, just a few miles away from his home. He turned back to the bed, the delcatty now curled up under his blankets.

He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "You—you don't think you're staying here, do you?" He chuckled, humorless. She looked at him with sad eyes. Eyes that couldn't have affected Ryan any less. "No," he said. "Absolutely not."

"Catty. Del delca delcatty," she said. Ryan grinned, putting a hand to his ear, mocking her.

"What? I'm sorry. I can't understand animal," he sneered. "Maybe if you bought a talker collar, people might actually give a shit. Oh wait, if you could afford one of those, you wouldn't be a whore, would you?"

The pokemon stared, shocked and hurt, before numbly getting out of his bed. Ryan snapped his fingers, and she turned back around.

"Here, I almost forgot." He dug through the pockets of his pants on the floor, eventually finding a crumpled up $100 bill. He passed it to her. "For your trainer. Maybe if you're lucky, he'll tip you out of that too, since I know I'm not."

She eyed the money, wanting nothing more than to leave without it, but eventually took it anyway.

"Don't forget to close the front door on your way out," Ryan said, turning away from her then and sitting at his desk, not acknowledging her any further. There was a long silence, so long that Ryan worried he might actually have to force her out. But then, he heard the door open, and then slam shut.

He stared at his closed laptop for a few minutes, mind moving at a mile a minute, before he finally sighed, opening it. The live broadcast was going to start in a few minutes. He logged onto his profile, his press manager already having logged on before him.

**Ryan! **A message popped into the chat. Then: **Why are you just now here? You're on in less than five!**

Ryan pressed his lips together. His fingers flew as he typed: **Took a long shower. Don't worry, I'm ready. **He stood up and moved to the closet to put his button down and suit jacket on, forgoing pants, knowing he would only be seen from the chest up. He pulled up his speech on his computer, sitting at his desk again.

**Just be ready. **the computer said. Ryan didn't reply.

He shook his head to clear it, and put on a giant smile for the camera as the broadcast started. "Hello, Hoenn," he said, voice dripping with charisma. "I'm Ryan Hynder, and I am now officially announcing the release of our _newest _product. Something you have all been waiting for!" As he spoke, he knew his press manager was pulling up images on the screen next to his face. "The new, Pokell Flash!" Pictures of the new phone his company had designed were displayed on the screen with him.

The broadcast only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like hours. He described basic features of the new phone, noting all of the qualities that made it 'better' than the last phone they had released.

And then, like that, it was over.

_Click. _It was done. He sighed, smile immediately dropping, and stood to stretch. He looked out the window again. He knew for a fact that right now in Mauville City , every electronics store and mall was packed with customers dying to get their hands on the new pokell. He glanced over to his desk at his own, still in the box, ready to be used.

He walked over to the desk, eyeing the phone. He had of course had already toyed with a few of them during production, but at the moment, he just didn't feel like setting up his own. Instead, he walked across the room to his personal bar, grabbing a bottle of bourbon.

He poured himself a glass, plunking in three ice cubes, and started to undress.

_Bzzzzz. _His phone was going off. Not the one in the box of course, but the currently activated one. "Hello," he said, opening the call without checking the caller ID.

"Ryan!" squealed a voice on the other side.

He sighed. "Hello Lucy."

"Oh Ryan, I saw the broadcast… It was wonderful."

"Thanks, sis," he said, taking a drink of bourbon after the last word.

"I hope your day was good today otherwise?"

"It was peachy."

She sighed. "Really."

He twirled his wrist, airing the bourbon in the glass.

Lucy sighed again. "Look… if you're lonely… maybe you should—"

"Find a girlfriend?" he asked, monotone. "We've been through this."

"I was going to say get a pokemon—"

"We've been through _that_ too," he snapped, leaning forward, glass still in hand. "I don't need a _pokemon_. Pokemon are for those idiots who live on the streets, battling to make enough money just to eat and move on to the next town. Not people like me." He paused, waiting for a response. There was none. "Lucy, I'm a multi millionaire, and you think a _pokemon _would make me happy?"

"I do…" she said quietly. "But, it doesn't matter to you what I think, does it?"

He sighed. "I don't need a pokemon. I don't need a girlfriend. I am fine on my own." Lucy remained silent. "I don't need anyone."

"Well, maybe you should come and see your family then," she said halfheartedly. "Surely you aren't too good for us?"

"I send you money every month, don't I?" he asked. "You have enough money to do literally whatever you want. Which is why I don't understand why you have pokemon at all."

"Because pokemon are more than tools Ryan!" she finally burst. "Pokemon are sentient beings! They have feelings, they can hope, they can dream... They're my fucking _friends_! Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"Can a pokemon own property?" he asked. Lucy opened her mouth, but no words came over the phone to Ryan. "Can a pokemon legally work? Can a pokemon register to vote?" Silence still. "Lucy, there's a _reason_ for all of that! I sure as hell don't need _animals _as friends." He took another drink of his bourbon, this time a long, deep drought.

Then he pulled the glass away from his lips, following a drop of condensation down the side of the crystal clear glass. "And don't make me come home and see mom."

"You're heartless," Lucy whispered.

"I'm not heartless. I just don't let my feelings get in the way of my life. That's why I'm here, at the top!" He barked that last sentence into the receiver. "I pushed my way through school, alone! I climbed the corporate ladder, on my _own_. The last thing I need is you trying to convince me to come home, or that I need a girlfriend or a fucking _pokemon_ to fix my problems! I have enough money to do literally whatever the fuck I want! And if that can't make me happy, so be it!"

There was silence on the other line. "Hello?" More silence. "Lucy?"

It took him a minute to realize she had hung up.


	2. Chapter 2

"Goooooooood afternoon, Mauville!" wailed the radio host. "Thanks for listening to 103.6 Ditto Radio, where we're whatever you want us to be!"

Ryan turned the volume up, honking his horn. "Let's go!" he yelled at nobody in particular. He was stuck in traffic, having done an awful job of scheduling his own doctor's appointment. He had scheduled it for four, meaning that he got to drive home right at five-thirty, in the middle of rush hour.

"I shouldn't have fired Kinzie," he muttered to himself. He had fired his secretary just over a month ago. She had been in charge of scheduling his… well, everything, and he hadn't been able to find a new one that wanted to work for him since. At the time, firing her because of that awful gap between her teeth had seemed like a great idea. He had planned on finding someone different to fill the position that was also a bit nicer on the eyes but… time had gotten away from him, and now he was stuck doing actual _work._

A car honked behind him. "Wha—hey!" he yelled. He rolled his window down and stuck his middle finger out. "Fuck you, asshole!"

"The weather is a sunny 95 here in Mauville today," the radio buzzed. "But that's not what has Mauville cooking."

"No it's not," laughed another announcer. "Yesterday, the new Pokell Flash hit the market Johnny, and oh was it a hit!"

"Yes it was," Ryan muttered to himself, turning up the radio so he could hear. In the distance, down the road, he saw smoke rising. _Great, it's a fucking car wreck,_ he thought to himself.

He took out his own pokell that he had finally gotten around to programming, and turned it on. He had turned it off because his media manager had not stopped calling him all morning, and it was as annoying as the traffic he was sitting in. He held down the button to start it up, so he could use the GPS and find a way around this mess.

"Of course it was, Jim," said the other announcer. "It comes with everything. I mean, touch screen, internet access, and this time, they even partnered with the Pokedex Company, installing a new pokedex app that works just like the real thing!"

Ryan smirked, inching his car forward a bit more. Adding the pokedex app was just the next step. So many people had them nowadays, adding the new app would almost eliminate the need for the pokedex itself, making more people want to buy the phone, instead of having to have both a phone and a pokedex.

A helicopter flew overhead towards the smoke. A news helicopter. Whatever was causing the smoke up ahead was apparently bad enough to get on TV.

The radio continued. "But what was the most shocking development, Johnny, is this _virus_ that has popped up on seemingly everyone's pokell!" Ryan froze, eyes twitching over to the speakers. He blinked, hoping he was hearing wrong.

"I know! One man called in to his bank just about an hour ago and reported that his card information had been stolen, and all of a sudden it was like the whole region was being robbed!"

"Right, Johnny! I sure am glad I didn't go out to get the new phone yesterday. I was going to wait until my next check. And thank Arceus I did."

"The weirdest part, Jim, is that the media manager of Oran Industries, Cecil Duffley, has made several public announcements today about his attempts to contact their CEO, Ryan Hynder. He says that Ryan's phone has been turned _off."_

Ryan swallowed, glancing at his pokell. He had turned it off earlier in the day after a fight with one of his subordinates, just tired of dealing with calls. Now, hand trembling, he held down a button to turn it on. After a moment, the oran berry logo of Oran Industries flashed across the screen, and so did fifty notifications from Cecil.

"Right, and the people of Mauville have taken that and _ran _with it," said Jim. "I mean, I'm watching the news right now, and this mob is _ridiculous_."

"Yeah, and they're popping up all over the region, Jim," said Johnny. "But the one that is getting the most media attention at the moment is the mob marching from Mauville right toward Ryan Hynder's _house. _Apparently, the people blame him for their losses, and most believe that he was the one who stole the money himself!"

_Bing. _Ryan's phone buzzed again. But now he was busy with the radio. He turned it up louder.

"I mean, look at the facts Johnny, it's the day after the launch, and suddenly the CEO is _missing, _and his phone is turned _off?"_

"Well, whatever the case here, it looks like the mob heading towards his house doesn't have the best intentions. I mean the smoke from their torches and fire pokemon is so thick, it's almost like the house is burning to the ground already!"

Ryan couldn't take anymore. He grabbed his keys and jumped out of his car, sprinting down the road and weaving between cars. He was only a few miles from his house, surely he could make it in time?

As he ran, he dialed Cecil. His media manager picked up on the first ring. "_Ryan!_" he screeched. "Why has your phone been turned off?!"

"Because—I don't know man!" Ryan said between breaths as he ran. "What are they… trying to do… to my house?"

"I don't know man but it's not looking good. What are you doing right now? Working out?"

"Something like that." He was catching up to the smoke. "Listen, I have to go. You have to convince them to stop!"

"I can't! It's too late! The entire region has gone mad. People are out for your blood, man. If they see you and recognize you, you'll be in some serious shit."

"But I didn't even do it!" Ryan roared, turning a corner. The mob was right in front of him then, but facing away from him, toward his neighborhood. He turned to dash through the trees.

"They don't care. You're some rich guy they can pin all of their problems on. A scapegoat, Ryan. And, honestly, the most logical answer in this whole thing. Don't let them find you."

"Where the fuck—ow—am I supposed to go?" he demanded, stubbing his toe while weaving through trees towards his mansion. Hopefully he could make it there in time… but, after that, he had no idea what he was going to do.

"Go to the police, man," Cecil said. "They'll at least protect you."

"The cops?" Ryan scoffed. "They'll just throw me in jail!"

"Hey, unless you did it, you shouldn't go to jail. There isn't anything but situational evidence for this thing right now, but that's all that the people need. But the _cops_ can't put you in jail for that."

"Fuck!" he yelled into the woods, to no one in particular. "Look, I gotta go, Cecil. I'm headed to my house right now."

"What?! You can't do that! They'll—"

_Click. _Ryan hung up his pokell just before he reached the treeline. The mob was walking right towards his house, fire pokemon in the front, and Molotov cocktails in the hands of the crowd. They were shouting and waving their fists at his house, when out of nowhere someone let loose one of the bottles. It crashed on his porch, exploding into flame and lighting his landscaping on fire. And then it was total chaos.

"No!" he cried, rushing out of the woods in his backyard towards the back door. He scanned his fingerprint and grabbed the extra key, opening the door and stumbling inside.

The left side of the house was almost entirely ablaze, the rest of it just starting to catch. He rushed up the stairs, sprinting to his bedroom to try to save something, anything, of his own. Under his bed, he had a small box filled with items that he cared about, in case his house ever did catch fire. A keepsake box. He snatched it, turning to head back downstairs and catching a glimpse through the window of a camerupt in its beast form unleashing flames from the volcanoes on its back.

He swore, sprinting out of his room and back down the stairs. The front of the house was now almost entirely on fire, the flames leaping from room to room as they consumed everything. Turning back to the back door, Ryan froze. The ceiling had collapsed where he had come in.

Desperately, Ryan looked for another way out. For a few seconds, he began to actually consider the fact that he very well could die right here. _I deserve it anyway. _The thought, fleeting, had no time to make an impact as he suddenly cried out in relief, spotting one single window that hadn't caught fire yet. The only issue there was that it was on the front side of his house, and everyone would see him. "Agh!" he cried, as the stairs collapsed behind him. It didn't appear as if he had a choice.

The window was closed, and he didn't have the time or the free hands to open it. He glanced around to find something to break it with. "Yes!" he said, grabbing the bronze bust of his own head that he'd had mounted on the wall. "I _knew _this thing would come in handy," he said, throwing it through the window. The glass shattered and he followed immediately, climbing out and falling to the ground.

"Ow, fuck," he groaned, standing up and rubbing his side. He glanced to his left, the crowd screaming and waving their fists. His ears were ringing, but he was able to make sense of the scene in front of him. HThe crowd yelling at and making rude gestures towards his house was slowly realizing that a man in expensive clothing had just barreled through the downstairs window. A few of them started marching towards him, commanding their pokemon forward.

Their mouths were moving, but the roar of the fire and the ringing in his ears was too loud. "I can't understand you!" he yelled at the advancing mob. He started backing away, moving away from the fire and toward some of his landscaping that had _not _caught fire, before soon realizing that he was now essentially cornered against his own fence. The man in front of him put up his middle finger. Ryan put his own hand up to his ear, shaking his head and mouthing "I can't hear you!"

The man in front of Ryan put up his other hand, flipping him two birds. Ryan reciprocated with his own, the other hand clutching his keepsake box tightly. The other man yelled something vulgar and broke into a run at him.

Ryan closed his eyes, preparing for the inevitable, when suddenly the fence exploded around him. "Everybody freeze," boomed a megaphone from behind him, breaking through his deafness. "Stop what you are doing!"

The crowd followed half of the instructions. The appearance of the police had caused the mob to scatter, and while they stopped firebombing the house, the damage had been done. The man that had charged at Ryan stopped too, but made eye contact with him, pointed at the camerupt, and yelled something else.

The ground was suddenly completely unstable, and Ryan fell on his butt. So did the house. The earthquake caused the mansion to collapse to the ground, and all he could do was watch.

"No!" he yelled, looking on helpless. But it was already done. His house was gone. He stared, numb, mouth hanging pointlessly agape. He stared for a while, blissfully unaware of the noises and chaos around him as he tried and failed to comprehend what had just happened.

An indefinite amount of time passed. "You're coming with us," came eventually a deep voice from behind him. Ryan turned his head to see a police officer looming over his head. He struggled to his feet, clutching his box.

"Wha—why?" he mumbled. He glanced around, now surrounded by police officers, both human and pokemon. Behind him, firetrucks and water pokemon were arriving at the scene.

"You aren't safe here, Mr. Hynder," said the same officer. "It would be best for you if you just came with us." He moved aside, revealing a police car. "Just go ahead and get in the back. We will explain your situation at the station."

Something about being told what to do snapped Ryan back to reality. "You know what's best for me—ha!" He glared at the police car. "Please, why don't you just go on back to the donut shop and let me call my lawyer."

"How are you going to afford one, Mr. Hynder?" remarked another cop calmly. Several of the police officers suppressed smiles.

Ryan froze, looking up from his pokell that he was about to use. "I'm Ryan Hynder, the almost-billionaire, and you're asking me how I can afford a lawyer?" he said, his voice rising in pitch until it was practically a screech.

"Well, I'm not sure that almost-billionaire part is true. At least, not anymore." Ryan looked as if he might have an aneurysm. The cop held up his hands in defeat. "Look, like I said, you need to come with us. We'll be able to explain in more detail back at the station."

Ryan looked between him and the rest of the officers, holding his breath for longer than he meant to, before exhaling loudly. He clicked his pokell off and stuck it in his pocket, adjusting the box in his arms. "Lead the way, I guess." He marched over to the cop car, bending and sitting in the back seat. The door closed, and he stared through the iron bars of the police car at the smoldering remains of what used to be his home until they drove out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

Ryan couldn't—no, he refused to—believe what they were telling him.

"So, let me get this straight," he said for the third time. "I have _how _much money in my account?"

He was seated in one of those big metal rooms that people get interrogated in. There was a giant, black window at one end. He had seen enough crime TV to know that it was a one way window, and he didn't like not being able to see who was looking at him. Every now and then, he looked at the window and scowled, seeing only his own reflection.

"The total balance of the checking account belonging to Ryan Hynder… is six dollars and 66 cents." The cop reading from the computer screen glanced up at him. "That doesn't sound suspicious at all."

Ryan blinked, slowly, trying to comprehend. "Six dollars… and 66 cents?" The police around him nodded once again. A couple of them against the wall were whispering to each other. Ryan put his head in his hands, in shock. _No… what is happening… no… _

Suddenly, there was a squeaky, too-high voice in the hallway. "Yes, of course I know him. Yes, yes, will you just let me through? I'm Cecil Duffley—what do you mean who is that? I'm his media guy! Just move out of the—Ryan!" Cecil had talked/shoved his way into the room, past the cops who frowned at him and looked completely ready to pick him up and throw him out. "Good to see you!"

"Six… dollars…" It was like Ryan hadn't even registered him. He seemed to be in a trance. He didn't look up from the floor, head still in his hands.

Cecil sighed. "Excuse me, everyone." He leaned his body over the table, drew back his arm, and slapped Ryan solidly across the head, stunning everyone in the room. Several of the cops moved their hands to their guns, but didn't take them out. Yet.

Ryan was definitely snapped out of his trance. "What the _fuck _Cecil!" he roared, rising to his feet and nearly jumping over the table. The hit had been so hard he felt dizzy.

"_That _is what you get for not answering the phone all day, dumbass!" Cecil roared right back, not backing off from Ryan in the slightest.

"Both of you, calm down, or we're going to have a problem," warned one of the cops, directing it toward Cecil. An anthro houndoom officer coughed, smoke exhaling from his nostrils. Ryan and Cecil got the hint. Ryan sat back down. There was a brief silence.

"What happened, Cecil?" Ryan muttered, looking dejected once again.

"Did they not tell you?" asked his media manager, looking around at the cops in the room. They shook their heads. "What is wrong with you people? Get the man up to speed!"

"We… haven't had the chance to even get past his bank balance, sir," said the officer sitting at the computer. She was leaned over, and Cecil suddenly became aware he was completely bent over her head in his efforts to reach Ryan. He leaned back, and she breathed deeply again, sitting up.

She composed herself for a second, adjusting the laptop screen, and then went back to her briefing. "Everyone who bought the phone yesterday has lost their checking account balances, and we still haven't figured out how. Not only that, but it seems that whoever initiated the attack went after _you _specifically. Your checking account has that strange balance left in it, and your savings, stocks, and everything else has been completely depleted."

There was stunned silence once again as Ryan digested the information. "That… are you sure? That can't be right." His mind was racing, trying to understand what they were saying to him.

"We are trying to figure out where it has all gone to, but at the moment it appears to be untraceable. Thankfully, the evidence here makes it seem pretty unlikely that you conceived the attack."

"Thankfully?" he shrieked. "What do you mean thankfully?

"All that is important now is that you are protected for the time being," continued the officer without pause. "Though your car has been destroyed—"

"My car?" he screeched, somehow even higher pitched than before. The officer nodded, continuing her story.

"—we were able to salvage some of its parts. I think, if you sold what was left, you could get a couple thousand dollars out of it and get an apartment for a while, and lay low."

Ryan's eye twitched. "An apartment?" he asked, the word sounding foreign to him. "Is that, like, a villa?"

The officer glared at him, as though she wanted to smack him herself. "Something like that," she said through her teeth. The others in the room were also staring at him, and he wondered if he had said something insulting. Wondered, but didn't really care.

She turned to Cecil. "What does the money situation look like for the rest of your people?" she asked.

He sighed, running his hands over his neck. "Decent, but not good. For some reason, only a select few of our employees had their funds taken. Those that did have theirs taken have enough in savings to last them for a while until they can get back on their feet. Don't know if I can say the same for the rest of Hoenn, though."

"Well, it sounds like whoever the perpetrator is has come from inside Oran itself, though we already suspected that." She nodded, turning back to Ryan. "The digits of your checking account were left in the number 666. That, to me, makes this quite personal. Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt you?"

"Hurt me? Come on. I'm Ryan Hynder. The people love me!" He said it so matter-of-factly, and was genuinely confused when most of the people in the room made awkward eye contact with each other. "What?"

"Do you have any enemies, Mr. Hynder," clarified the officer, ignoring his attitude.

He froze, thinking for a second, but couldn't see beyond his own thick skull. "Not that I can think of," he said finally. One of the officers lining the walls rolled his eyes. The others stared at him, blankly, marveling at his obliviousness to the situation.

The female officer sighed, closing her laptop and standing. "Well, I think the next move is to interview everyone that worked on this project at Oran Industries. Someone was out for blood, clearly trying to pin this whole thing on Mr. Hynder here. This cannot be taken lightly. As for you," she said, addressing Ryan once again. "You should lay low. We are going to create a fake persona for you and, with your permission, sell your car parts and help find you an apartment out of town."

"I-I don't understand," Ryan said, standing up and watching as she left. "What do you mean?"

"You're wanted, Ryan, by someone who wants to kill you, and by _everyone _in Hoenn that thinks you robbed them." She watched him curiously and smiled as she finally saw the flash of recognition that crossed his face. She opened the door to leave the room. "I suggest you get a new look, and quick."

She left the room, leaving Ryan somehow more stunned than he was when he was brought there.

* * *

"I just don't get it, Cecil," Ryan muttered, kicking a rock and sending it flying across the parking lot. They were standing outside the police station, waiting for an officer to escort them. It was getting dark, and the streetlights were starting to click on.

"I mean, you didn't exactly have many friends at work." Cecil took extra care to be gentle with his words.

Ryan stopped his pacing. "What does that mean," he hissed, staring at Cecil.

The shorter man backtracked. "Nothing, nothing, just that, you know, there's bad people out there, and you can't trust everyone."

Ryan deflated a bit, going back to kicking rocks. "I guess so," he muttered, running his fingers through his newly buzzed hair.

The cops had given him a makeover to make him almost unrecognizable—that is, if you hadn't seen him before. They warned that, while this trick might work against strangers who only saw him on TV, the person who was out to get him likely knew him well enough to see through the disguise.

His hair was much shorter than before, and was a lightened brownish color instead of its normal pitch black. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes that were worn at the back. They had holes in them. _Holes!_ He felt disgusting.

He'd given them permission for someone to sell the car parts on his behalf. The car itself had been practically obliterated by the mob once they'd realized it belonged to him. The pieces sold for less than $1500, a number that made Ryan's stomach turn.

"I can't believe I have less than a million dollars," he muttered.

Cecil shot him a look, rolling his eyes. "You're unbelievable sometimes. You would have had more than that if you'd had, oh, I don't know, _any_ kind of insurance?"

"Insurance is pointless," Ryan mumbled, repeating a phrase he'd learned from his father.

Cecil's mouth was gaping. "What do you mean it's pointless!" he cried. "Did you not see what just happened to your house?"

Ryan shook his head, kicking another rock. "The insurance companies didn't know that was gonna happen, though. If nothing had happened, then they would just be taking my money!"

Cecil opened his mouth, and then shut it with a snap, realizing he didn't have the words to combat that twisted logic.

At that time, an officer walked out of the police station, heading toward where Ryan and Cecil stood. Ryan turned to face him, looking him up and down. "Good," he said after analyzing the officer. "I had hoped the guard they were sending me with would be able to do their job at least somewhat well, and I think you'll do just fine." Though he had been dreading having a cop around him at all times as 'security,' he was glad that this guy looked at least somewhat capable.

But the officer frowned, narrowing his eyes. "I'm just supposed to give you this," he said, handing a backpack to Ryan. Inside was his personal box he had taken from home, along with a few other things the police had gathered for him, including the money from his car. "Your guard will be out in a few minutes. She's supposed to take you to Verdanturf and—"

"Wait," interrupted Ryan, holding up his hand. "Did you say 'she?'"

The officer scowled at him, turning around and walking back towards the station. "You'd be wise not to talk to her that way," he warned, heading back in through the revolving doors.

Ryan stuck his middle finger out, waving it toward where the officer had gone inside. Then, he turned back to Cecil. "I can't believe they—Cecil?" he asked.

Cecil was getting in his car, and he looked over at Ryan, sheepish. "I uh, just got a call from Oran, they need me back at work. Apparently… they're voting on who gets to temporarily take your place?"

Ryan saw red, his heartbeat doubling. "What? Take my place? Wait, I don't get a say? Cecil!"

Cecil was already driving away. He rolled down his window and stopped briefly as he passed Ryan. "Sorry, man, I can't be seen with you that much. These people are crazy." He looked away, down the road. "I don't want them coming after me or my family, too, you know..." Then, he looked back at Ryan, fake smile plastered on his face. "But, hey, they'll figure this out! Then you'll be back working in no time, making money and stuff, and everything will go back to normal!" The word 'normal' sounded as natural as a squeaky tire as he said it.

With that, he rolled the window up, speeding out of the parking lot, leaving the former CEO of Oran Industries with nothing but a miscellaneous bag of trinkets and an uncertain future. Ryan glared at the police station, waiting for his appointed security guard to walk through the door. Whoever it was, he was determined to dislike them, no matter the cost.


	4. Chapter 4

It took a while for the doors to open once again, and Ryan had become almost too bored to care. Almost. When they finally slid open, he slapped an unamused expression back on his face and turned to stare down the officer exiting the building.

He meant to make unbreakable eye contact, though his eyes drifted down to the rest of her body. She was covered head to toe in her police uniform, and, to Ryan, it flattered her in _all _the right ways. As her lavish hips swished side to side with each step, so did her long, black tail.

_Tail?_

Ryan's eyes zipped back up to her face, and he let out an audible groan. Any 'feelings' he'd almost had about the woman walking toward him were completely dashed away. "A pokemon? Are you _fucking _with me?!" He yelled that last part at the brick police station itself, as if it had personally wronged him.

Wasting no time, wanting to establish dominance right away, Ryan marched up towards the poocheyena woman, pointing at her muzzle as he did so. "Let's get one thing straight, _dog_, I don't want you to think—"

In one swift move, the officer grabbed him by his shirt collar, pivoted, and slammed him against the windows in front of the station lobby. A child jumped when a body bashed into the glass, and then stared, unabashedly gaping at Ryan, lollipop threatening to drop from his mouth. People in the lobby began to giggle.

"Let's get one thing straight, _skin_," snarled the pokemon. "I don't care who you _were_. Who you _think _you are. We _have_ to work together, but that doesn't mean we have to like it." She dropped him roughly, Ryan barely registering in the back of his mind that she had actually _lifted him off the ground with one arm_. She glared at him, piercing amber eyes staring right through him, and into his being. It made him uncomfortable. "Trust me, I don't like this any more than you do." She spun around and, hips still swishing back and forth as she marched over to her cruiser.

Ryan scrambled to his feet as she walked away, holding his neck and backside where she'd dropped him. Ryan could faintly hear the people in the waiting room laughing at him. It set his blood boiling. He whirled around, flipping them the bird through the glass. Including the little kid. _Especially _the little kid.

"Let's go!" yelled the poocheyena woman from her car. It was an undercover police car, an older Toyota with a faded silver finish that almost looked tarnished. "Now!"

He hustled over to the car without argument, getting in the passenger side and slamming the door behind him. "Oh, I guess they let you drive now, huh." He didn't quite mean it as an insult—he was actually genuinely surprised—but she didn't let it slide.

Before he could react, she raised her right paw, cocking it like a pistol and punching him in the side of the face—the same side that Cecil had slapped only hours before.

"Ow!" whined Ryan, holding his hand over his face. "I don't think you're allowed to abuse me! You're _supposed _to be my bodyguard."

"All I have to do is protect you from _them_," she growled, turning out of the station and heading toward the interstate. "They didn't say anything about protecting you from _me_." There was a hint of malice in her voice, and a long silence. Ryan found himself feeling a bit unsure of himself for the first time in a long time.

It was getting dark outside, the street lights blinking on as they drove a few miles outside of Mauville to Verdanturf. The police had already secured him an apartment in a poor suburb in town, taking some of the money from selling his car as the down payment and first-month's rent. He now had enough money left for rent for two months—that is, if he didn't spend _any _other money. Realistically, he _might _have enough to survive _one_. And, with his spending habits the way they were… he didn't think he'd survive the next day.

The poocheyena led him from the parking lot into the apartment, opening the door with a clunky looking key that had seen better days. She stood to the side, holding the door open but staring daggers at him as he slowly entered the building.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. It smelled… poor. That's the only way he thought to describe it. Faint hints of mold, old cigarettes, and rotted food wafted from the walls themselves, which were painted a sickly yellow color to boot. The kitchen had one small sink, a stove, a half-sized refrigerator, and no dishwasher. He stared blankly at the appliances, briefly wondering when the last time he had made food for himself had been. He swallowed, mouth dry, wandering into the next room in a daze.

The living room was smaller than his _bathroom _had been in his mansion. His mouth hung open slightly as he realized that there was no furniture in the apartment, just carpet. A dirty, stained carpet that could barely be called such. A small hallway led from the living room to a tiny bathroom with a bathtub/shower, sink, and toilet. There wasn't even a mirror in the bathroom.

Still speechless, Ryan went to look in the bedroom. It was somehow even smaller than the living room, and once again had no furniture. He walked back into the main room, slowly, eyes unfocused. The poocheyena was watching him, feeling a bit smug to see his disbelief.

"This… this is a joke, right?" Ryan asked, pleading with her. Somehow, it seemed like she could tell him this was all some elaborate prank, and things would go back to yesterday. That she had the power to make it all go away by just willing it so. He seemed lost, completely removed from the cocky, charismatic millionaire he had been that morning.

"No, this is _lucky_," she said, looking around the room. "Roof over your head, fresh running water, and even a heater! You humans don't know how good you have it." Distaste dripped like venom from her fangs.

"But… I don't even have furniture," Ryan mumbled, looking around the room once again, as if that would make a couch suddenly spring from the walls.

"Well, I guess you'll have to go into town tomorrow and buy some." Her tail was practically wagging with the enjoyment she was getting out of this. It was almost too much.

Ryan frowned, thinking hard. "I don't… I don't think I have the money to buy furniture?" He phrased it like a question.

The officer bared her teeth, a smile that looked almost like a snarl. Her tone was deathly serious. "Welcome to the real world."

* * *

Sleep didn't come for Ryan that night. He laid on the floor in his bedroom, dirty carpet clinging to his body. He hadn't gotten undressed, hadn't even taken off his shoes. He just stared at the ceiling, connecting dots between stains in the paint, praying and hoping and wishing that this was all a dream.

"This can't be happening," he said to himself, probably for the fiftieth time that night. He squinted his eyes, held them closed, counted to five, and opened them again. Nope, still in the apartment.

It was late, probably closer to 3am, but he wasn't tired at all. His heart wouldn't stop pounding, as though it were trying to break out of his chest. He was covered in a thin blanket, one of the few items that the police had stuffed in his bag.

He sat up, leaning against the wall, accepting that he simply wasn't going to get any sleep that night. Instead, he reached over and grabbed the bag he'd been given, dumping its contents on the floor. There was a cell phone—a flip phone to be exact. Something he hadn't seen in ages. _I guess they got me a burner phone?_ There was also a small bottle of painkillers, a pen and some paper, and a couple packs of instant ramen. There was his box of sentimentals that he had taken from his mansion. And, the most intriguing thing, six pokeballs that rolled around on the floor.

A sticky note was attached to one of them. "For beginner trainers," it said in perfect cursive script. Ryan inhaled deeply, letting out a sigh through his nose.

He had inquired at the station about what the hell he was supposed to do for a job, and they had all said the same thing. "Become a pokemon trainer," they practically sang in a chorus. The thought of it made him want to gag.

Nevertheless, he was curious about what was inside of that pokeball, and was tempted to open it. He was about to do just that when he stopped himself._ I'll deal with that in the morning, _he thought, jerking his hand back as though he'd touched a hot iron.

Instead, he grabbed the box he'd taken from his house, placing it on his lap and running his hands over the wood. His fingers found the latch on the front, and he popped it open to look inside.

His heart sank as he looked at the contents. He had been sure there was more in the box. Alas, the dim streetlights shining through the window illuminated only a few objects: there was his father's cigar cutter, a crumpled up letter, and an old photograph of his family. He stared down at it, wishing he could erase the image from his mind forever. His father and mother stood in the background, his sister, only five at the time, standing and looking pure and innocent in her dress, and himself, a baby, held by his mother, propped up on her hip.

A thought slipped into his mind. _I could go and live with them…_ Quickly, he shook his head, slamming the box shut a bit harder than he would have liked. "No," he said, out loud. That wasn't an option.

He narrowed his eyes, grabbing the mesh bag that had contained the things that had been given to him. He wadded it up, shoving it under his head and laying back down. Squinting his eyes shut, he willed sleep to come to him, though it resisted.

* * *

He woke up in the morning completely disoriented, for a moment feeling as though he were dreaming. He sat up, looking around at the completely foreign scene in front of him. Sun blitzed through the window, and it was becoming hotter and hotter by the second. He frowned, getting to his feet, still wearing his clothes from yesterday, down to his very shoes.

He stumbled out into the living room, finding the poocheyena sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes shut. She had changed out of her officer's uniform, donning a pair of soft looking shorts and a T-shirt. She was bare footed. He let his eyes drift for a moment, finding himself staring at the way her shorts bunched up between her legs. He squinted his eyes, trying to focus.

"I… never got your name," he began, running his fingers over his head, which only reminded him that his hair had been cut.

The poocheyena opened one of her eyes, looking at him briefly before shutting it again. "You can call me Em," she said flatly, closing the matter.

Ryan felt as though that wasn't her name at all, but kept his mouth shut. His chest suddenly felt crushed, and he leaned against the wall for support. His mouth felt dry. "It's so hot in here…"

"Yes, I don't think there's air conditioning in these units," she mused, eyes remaining shut. "You'll have to buy a window unit."

Ryan felt sick to his stomach. "I don't even…" _A window unit? What the fuck is that?_ "What… am I going to do?" he breathed, closing his eyes again.

Em had heard him, but stayed quiet for a moment. She felt only a tiny twinge of guilt in her stomach, but shoved it down deep inside her. "You're gonna have to live like the rest of us," she said finally, still keeping her eyes closed. She took another deep breath, exhaling slowly through her nose.

Ryan frowned. "I don't know… If I know how to do that," he said slowly. All of the cockiness had drained from his demeanor, and he felt like he was losing his mind. "I mean, they said become a trainer? And I don't know how to do that? I don't want to do that! I don't know why this happened to me…"

Em sighed, begrudgingly accepting that she wasn't going to get any more meditation done that morning. A low growl escaped her chest as she got to her feet. "Pull yourself together!" she snapped, jabbing him in the arm with a clawed finger. "You'll get a job, that's how you'll do it. You'll become a trainer. You'll work hard. You'll outfit your apartment and get some food, and you'll make it just fine!" She spoke as though she were reciting something she had heard before. "Just stop feeling sorry for yourself. The world doesn't feel sorry for you."

Ryan was stunned, watching her briefly, before narrowing his eyes. He smacked her hand away from him. "Fuck you, dog. What do you know?" he spat, heading back to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

_I would rather wallow in self pity and starve than _ever _become a trainer,_ he thought angrily, pacing around the empty room. His stomach growled, and he stopped in his tracks. He spotted the wad of money on the floor, and bent to pick it up. "Twenty… forty… sixty…" he muttered, counting the money. He reached only $750 when he ran out of bills to count. _The apartment and down payment cost more than half of what I had_, he thought, panicking for a moment. Hands shaking, he folded the bills and put them in his back pocket. He grabbed the cell phone off the ground too, shoving it in his other pocket.

He knew what he had to do then, and he was already searching for a way to do it. The only door to the place was the front door, and to get there he would have to walk past Em. And she _definitely _wouldn't like where he was going. No. There had to be a better way. His eyes settled on the only window in the bedroom, and he walked over to it, searching for a latch on its perimeter. He found one and grinned, sliding the window open. There wasn't even a screen to remove. He hoisted his leg over the wall, listening to see if Em had heard him, but he heard nothing. Carefully, he climbed out of the window and shut it behind him.

He walked with a purpose out of the apartment complex, realizing only then that he had no idea where he was. Nevertheless, he knew in places like this that there were bars on practically every corner, and it wouldn't be hard to find one.

Em, still in the apartment, fought with herself, sitting once again on the floor and trying to meditate._ Maybe I was too harsh_, she thought after a while, feeling slightly guilty. It had been nearly an hour, and she hadn't heard a peep from his room. She breathed deeply again as she tried to calm her nerves.

Sleeping on a dirty apartment floor wasn't her first choice, either. But this guy acted like he was going to die just by touching the carpet. She scowled, baring her teeth slightly. _Must be nice to have never slept on a floor before. To have never had to worry about food. Or money. Or shelter._

She exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath, and opened her eyes. She groaned with frustration. Rehashing angry thoughts over and over in her head wasn't exactly helping to lower her heart rate any, and her meditation that day had felt counterproductive. She stood, flexing her tail and stretching off her stiffness. There had still been no movement from Ryan's room, and she eyed the door curiously.

_Just do it. _"Ryan?" she called, pacing quietly over to the door. "Hey, I know I've been an asshole," she said. No response. "Well, let's go out in the cruiser and find you a blow up mattress or something. Or we can go to a thrift store! You've probably never been to one of those, but they're pretty neat, and you can find some good stuff!" Still nothing. "And you'll need some food for the kitchen."

After more silence. Em started to feel nervous. _How unstable is this guy?_ "Ryan?" she called again, turning the door handle. "I'm gonna come in, is that—mother fucker." She only had to crack the door to see what had happened. The window was wide open, Ryan gone.

"Arceus," she swore, running back into the living room. She grabbed her gun, clipping it behind her back and tucking it under her shirt, before heading out on foot to find him. _He has no idea what he's getting himself into. If these people find out who he is and hurt him, it will be my head on the chopping block. _

She reached the edge of the apartment complex, looking left and right, trying to think where he would have gone to. _He couldn't have gone far, right?_ she thought. She randomly picked a direction, and turned down the street, hoping to find him before someone else recognized him.


	5. Chapter 5

Ryan didn't have to walk long before he found what he was looking for. At the corner of a street he found himself on, a dive-bar called the Hydro Pump had manifested between the last house on the block and the street itself. It looked as if one of the old houses had been converted into the bar itself, and it smelled like cigarettes and faintly of sewage. Perfect, thought Ryan with a grimace. He was used to up-scale clubs and venues, but anything that served alcohol would do at this point.

A couple trainers in the outdoor area of the bar were having a battle in a makeshift battlefield. Ryan stopped to watch for a moment, the action briefly catching his eye as he stood outside the building. A geodude was beating mercilessly down upon a whismur—both pokemon common in the area, he knew. The whismur could do nothing but try to protect itself with its tiny hands as the rock pokemon threw rock after rock at its head. Occasionally, the geodude would pick up a can or glass bottle on accident as it was lobbing boulders, which was probably not allowed in a battle, if he had to guess. But Ryan just shrugged, pulling open the dirty glass door and walking into the bar. _Not my problem._

As he entered the bar, he was immediately aware of how many eyes turned to look his way. He swallowed, his throat suddenly incredibly parched. He quickly found himself a spot in the corner at a booth, facing away from the door so he was less noticeable. He wasn't an idiot, after all. He knew people were still out to get him, after the scandal with Oran.

But he was slowly losing his ability to give a fuck.

"Two shots of tequila, and, I don't know, gimme some shitty light beer," he told the waitress as she came by. He was glad to see that she at least was a human—he'd had enough of bitchy female pokemon for the day. His thoughts drifted to Em for a moment; to her clawed finger jabbing into his chest, to her collarbone and shoulders, to her waist and hips and—

He practically smacked himself to knock those thoughts out of his head. _No way,_ he thought, scowling and daring someone to make eye contact with him. The last thing he was going to do was fuck his bitchy puppy bodyguard. He would never stoop that low, right? _Right?_

He took the shots back to back, sucking on a lime afterward to kill the burn. He had only half hoped that they had some beers on draft, but alas, his light beer came in a can. "Fucking gross," he muttered to himself, popping the tab and nearly flinching at the carbonation hiss. Gingerly, he raised the can to his lips, taking a long drink. _At least still tastes the same. Shitty._

He spent most of his time people watching and ordering more drinks. A couple of drunks were playing pool—a human and what he assumed to be his pokemon, a zigzagoon man. The pokemon was winning, but the competition appeared to be friendly. They were laughing, smiling, and generally having a good time. _Disgusting,_ Ryan thought, taking another drink of his beer. He ordered two more shots.

One of his legs was starting to fall asleep, so he shifted his weight to his other side when he felt something poking him in the butt. He fished around in his pocket til he found the flip phone. He set it on the table, staring at it like it was an ancient relic. _How do you turn this thing on? _he wondered, wheels in his brain turning, albeit slowly.

Finally he decided on holding down the 'hang up' button, mostly because it was red like a power button, and he was at a loss for other ideas. Luckily, it was the right way to turn it on, and soon the screen lit up and the phone began loading.

It took him a few minutes to figure out how to navigate the phone. As soon as it turned on, he started getting phone call after phone call from a number he didn't recognize. He panicked slightly, figuring someone had tracked his location. After another couple minutes of fiddling, he figured out how to block the number. With the incessant calls finally stopped, he was able to look through the rest of the phone.

It looked like the cops had put his most-used phone numbers in the phone. There were about ten of them, most of them work contacts, but of course, his sister's number was right there at the bottom, just barely making it onto the list. He sighed, snapping the phone shut and stuffing it in his pocket. _Should I tell her what happened? That I got a new number? _The thoughts slipped into his mind without permission In response, he ordered another shot.

After digesting some more liquid motivation, Ryan was starting to feel _good_. He finished his third beer, got another one, and decided to check out the outside porch area behind the bar. It was a lot busier than inside—the warm, summer evening was a perfect one for drinking outside. The makeshift battlefield was still in action, now a wingull in its beast form was fighting a beautifly. This battle was more fair, and more entertaining to watch.

Ryan had always enjoyed watching battles—as a sport, of course. He bet on the pokemon league like everyone else did, and of course he had his favorite pokeathalon teams, but he had just never seen the appeal of street battling. The money from it was poor, even counting the tips people often gave if you won (and the battle was entertaining.) In the past, he'd had no reason to take up training pokemon at all. It just couldn't compare salary-wise to being the CEO of one of the biggest companies on Hoenn, after all.

But now… He frowned, thinking to himself. He took another drink of his beer, which was somehow already almost empty. It seemed he was going to have to take up training after all, whether he liked it or not. That is, if he wanted to survive until this pokell virus scandal blew over. His mind drifted back to the pokeball with the sticky note in his room. For a moment, he felt a strange urge, like he wanted to leave the bar and go see what pokemon they had stuck him with.

But that moment was fleeting. His people watching had paid off. He wasn't sure what he had been looking for until he'd found it. Across the patio, a sexy woman had caught his eye. Well, more than that, really. She was a houndour woman, underdressed even for a summer night. Around her neck she wore a collar, black and—if Ryan had to bet—containing a microchip. That was how her trainer would keep track of her progress, and the money she was making.

Pokemon prostitution was technically illegal, though Ryan didn't understand why. Neither did most people, really. If it were legalized, it would almost completely destroy the sex trafficking industry that runs rampant through most major cities. Though some worried that legalized pokemon prostitution would replace training almost completely. There sure was more money in it.

_Well, there's an idea,_ Ryan thought, a lightbulb going off in his head as he drunkenly made his way over to the houndour woman, squeezing through the crowd who had gathered around the battlefield. It had been almost two whole days since he'd fucked something, and he couldn't remember the last time he had gone that long without getting his dick wet. _Finally, a good use of all this leftover money,_ his drunk brain told him.

"How much?" he slurred, approaching the woman and leaning his arm against the fence behind her. She smiled, lustful eyes peering at his face.

"Depends on how long," she whispered, hand-paw trailing up the front of his shirt and twisting the fabric.

Ryan felt his heart rate double. He leaned over her, breathing disgusting alcohol breath right into her sensitive nose. The houndour was a pro, however, and she kept her composure, reeling him in for the sale. "I can go as long as you want, baby," he droned, eyes nearly crossing as he stared at her body.

The houndour smiled, baring her pointed teeth which seemed to glow against her black fur. Without another word, she pinched Ryan's collar, leading him through a back gate where a minivan was waiting with the back seats laid down.

* * *

Em had given up on trying to call Ryan's new phone after it started telling her she 'no longer had permission to contact that number.' _That asshole blocked me._ She couldn't believe it, but then again, she could.

The poocheyena didn't know Verdanturf as well as she'd like to, but she had a good guess where he was going: to make more irresponsible decisions. And where best to do that than a shitty dive bar? She had faintly caught his scent in the wind, and the general direction it led her took her directly to the doors of the Hydro Pump. She took a breath, walking through the doors, one hand behind her back, fingertips on her gun.

She wrinkled her nose—the smell was horrific, so overpowering that she lost Ryan's scent completely. But he was here, somewhere. She didn't see anything inside, save for a few drunks lounging at the bar and playing pool. She was confused for a moment as to why everyone acted so casually around her until she remembered she wasn't wearing her uniform. A few unwelcome stares reminded her that the shorts she was wearing didn't quite cover her butt all the way. Face warm with embarrassment, and trying not to turn around and snap at the humans staring at her like a snack, she pushed her way out the back door and into the courtyard where a battle was finishing up.

Once out of the bar itself, Ryan's scent picked back up. For some reason, it led past the unofficial battlefield out a back gate, into a dimly lit area off of the main road. Em's stomach tightened as she carefully made her way through the gate, heading into the unknown, her hand behind her back now clenching her gun in her palm.


End file.
